


Here's Just Another Ordinary Day

by SpiritSails



Series: Felix [3]
Category: Felix the Cat (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritSails/pseuds/SpiritSails
Summary: The sequel to "Felix Gets Updated" and the final third of the trilogy. Felix and friends run into an old foe. It goes how you would expect. Or maybe not? I don't know what you would expect. I can't read your mind.





	Here's Just Another Ordinary Day

**Author's Note:**

> All entities belong to their respective owners. Creative liberties are taken.

This story begins as all titillating tales of adventure do: At the post office.

Felix the Cat and Sheba Beboporeba were spending their morning taking care of one small chore before beginning a fantastic Saturday doing absolutely nothing worthwhile.

“So much junk mail. How many credit cards do they even want me to get?!” Felix the Cat asked of the mail in his hand as he locked up his P.O. box.

Felix kept on muttering to his junk mail, as if complaining to it just enough would turn it into something more appealing.

“F-Man, you really need to chill,” Sheba replied, the yellow cat following her black and white companion into the New York City streets.

Not quite paying attention to his friend, Felix held his tail over a trash can, passing the junkmail-stuffed envelopes through the multipurpose appendage as a shredding sound filled the felines’ ears.

Wiggling his tail to free a stray scrap of paper, Felix added, “I’m just amazed I haven’t gotten anything for my birthday.”

“Felix, are you really going around expecting to get stuff for your birthday months in advance?”

“It’d be nice,” Felix shrugged.

“You’re killing me, F-Man,” Sheba said with a roll of her eyes.

Little did the cats know, the trash can that Felix shredded his mail into had grown a pair of legs and started following them down the sidewalk. Thankfully, as with all things in New York City, no passersby cared, nor even bothered to bat an eye.

“Well, hey, it’s my 100th anniversary, Sheba. I’m an OC, right? Old Cat. I deserve something.”

At this point, Felix immediately stopped walking, turning toward Sheba, expecting a speech.

Sheba stood her ground as well, starting, “If you keep living your life, your really long life…”

Yep, there it was.

“…expecting to be rewarded for every little thing you do, it’s gonna make those moments when you do get somewhere a lot less meaningful. Notice I didn’t say something, F-Man. Somewhere.”

Meanwhile, the trash can approacheth-ed-ed-ed.

Before Felix could add any counterargument to such pertinent observations for someone wearing a beret, from out of the trash can sprung none other than Shamus T. Goldcrow, private eye and trenchcoat and fedora enthusiast.

The bird spat out an apple core from his beak before addressing the cats, who seemed rather nonplussed by the goings-on.

“Word on the street, kid, is somebody’s got your number,” Goldcrow said, looking toward Felix.

“Hopefully they added me to the no-call list,” Felix chortled.

Goldcrow’s wing-hands gripped the sides the trash can, the constant crinkling of the plastic trash bag within perhaps undermining his point just a bit.

“I mean it, kiddo,” Goldcrow whispered harshly, “Someone’s looking for you. Be careful out there, buddy boy.”

“Buddy boy?” Sheba repeated with a raised brow.

Felix smiled wide, finding Goldcrow’s whole show very amusing.

“I’ll be fine. What are they gonna do? Monologue me to death?” Felix said with a sideways glance over at Sheba.

Sheba stuck her tongue out at Felix.

Goldcrow tried in vain to keep the tone of this scene consistent.

“They might! Word is these people will try anything. You never know what some nutso palookas could come up with, kiddo. It’s a big, crazy world out there.”

“Don’t I know it,” Felix said, looking down at his garbage-drenched friend.

“Hey,” the black and white cat added with a snap of his fingers, “Sheba and I were gonna meet up with Rosco at the mall. Did you wanna come with?”

“Afraid I can’t, chum,” Goldcrow said as a pair of burly garbage men picked up the trash can he was in and dumped its contents, including Goldcrow, into a garbage truck idling nearby.

From the garbage truck, Goldcrow shouted at the cats, “I’m on the hunt for a blue hedgehog’s last remaining shreds of integrity. Last I heard they were somewhere in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood?” Sheba stepped back in surprise, “Good luck out there!”

Goldcrow flapped his wings, lifting himself up and out of the garbage truck and toward the horizon, the bird flying headfirst to The Land of the Stars.

“He can fly?” Sheba asked, wide eyes watching that bird go.

“No,” Felix pondered, “But why tell him that now?”

-

Meanwhile, deep in an underground lab just outside the city limits, a small, old man in a lab coat craned his neck to look up at a large, brown dog in a nice blue suit and matching hat.

“Behold!” the old man bellowed, his arms shooting upward as he addressed the big dog. “My latest invention.”

“Professor,” the dog stood, incredulous, “These are just boxing gloves.”

The Professor’s mustache bristled. His eyebrows shifted.

Pointing upward toward the dog, the Professor screamed, “Rock Bottom, you are a fool!  
Yes, they may be boxing gloves, but these boxing gloves have extra padding.”

Looking down at the bulky, red boxing gloves, then back toward the Professor, Rock Bottom took a puff of his cigar before speaking again.

“Well, gee, Professor. You really… showed me.”

“Of course, my canine companion,” the Professor snickered, “You and I both know that you’ve made my plans backfire more often than not. With those boxing gloves, now you can’t grab anything, break anything, or even really touch anything at all. So now you can’t ruin anything! You can only hit things!”

Slowly, Rock Bottom’s eyes widened as realization took hold.

“I do like hitting things.”

“You’ll get to hit things!” the Professor said as he jumped into the air, though not very high, considering he was about a fourth the size of Rock Bottom, “So many wondrous things, Rock!”

“What am I hitting?” Rock asked, jumping with the Professor.

Then Rock stopped, and pondered, “Why am I hitting?”

A bit out of breath, the Professor answered, ignoring the exact intent of the question, “What else would a genius who could easily make anything he wanted to secure a mass sum of wealth do? We’re going to steal Felix’s Bag of Tricks!”

-

Meanwhile-while, deep in an aboveground mall within the city, Felix and Sheba were standing with Rosco. The large, orange cat pulled his friends into a big, tight hug.

With a sigh, Rosco told his fellow felines, “Felicity is in the middle of finals week. She said she needed time to herself to focus.”

With a muffled voice against Rosco’s larger frame, Felix replied, “Well, tell her I wish her the best with her grades.”

Nodding, Rosco put his friends back down, Felix shaking his head while a dizzy Sheba stood against a trash can to balance herself.

“I’m glad I could set you up with someone so nice,” Felix added, dusting himself off.

“Hey! Hey!!! No loitering, lady,” the trash can Sheba stood next to shouted as it hopped aside, making Sheba fall over.

Rubbing her aching back, Sheba muttered, “Man, why do the trash cans here have to talk?”

Rosco gasped.

“Don’t say something like that, Sheba! The Everything Talks Mall is the best place in the whole city. Just think about how cool it would be if everything at my house talked.

A thought bubble appeared above Rosco’s head. Felix and Sheba stared up at it to enjoy the show.

Like my fridge.

“I may be designed to keep things cold, Rosco, but you’re the coolest thing here. I love you.”

Or my bed.

“I’ll support you all night. I love you.”

Or even my TV!

“All these shows on me, and I’d rather be watching you. I love you, Rosco.”

And what about my toaster?

“I’m a toaster. I love you.”

Peering in on Rosco’s thought bubble, Felix had but one comment to make.

“Rosco, you are in dangerous need of affection.”

-

With that, the cats proceeded to do some shopping. Rosco looked at some appliances, but they all just wanted to be friends. Felix perused some antiques. Each of them made the exact same joke about being younger than him.

Together, the cats hit up one of the mall’s many clothing stores.

There, Sheba presented a particular garment to Felix. It was a red denim jacket with metal buttons.

“If you wore clothes, this would look great on you,” Sheba said, handing the jacket to Felix.

The jacket had a toothy smile on its face.

“Um, thanks,” Felix said, taking the jacket and holding it up in the air as if it was radioactive, “But I’ll pass.”

Rosco stood into the conversation with a confused expression pulled across his face.

“Err, why don’t you wear clothes, Felix?”

Shocked, Felix replied, “I’m wearing clothes.”

Felix stepped out of his shoes, revealing a pair of feet that were shaped just like and also the same exact color as his shoes.

“See?” Felix said, pointing down toward his feet.

“Fair enough,” Rosco shrugged.

“Besides,” Felix added. If I wanted any clothes, I’d just get some from my Bag of Tricks.

Unable to resist the urge to ask more questions, Rosco inevitably asked, “Have you taken your bag out of storage yet?”

With a curl of his mouth, Felix answered, “Nope. I guess lately I haven’t had much need to summon anything I could ever want.”

-

After a full day of consumerism, the cats were on their way out of the mall with nothing to show for their time.

“Maybe a talking car is enough,” Felix said as Sheba nodded in agreement and Rosco looked back toward The Toaster Store.

Just as the cats made it to the mall exit, the doors were forced open by what appeared to be, and indeed was, a comically large boxing glove.

“Aha!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

Hearing that voice for the first time in a long time, Felix scowled.

“Professor! Let me guess…”

“Give me your Bag of Tricks, Felix!” the Professor and Felix yelled in unison.

“Do not mock me!” the Professor said with an accusing finger pointed toward Felix.

With a chuckle, Felix said, “Don't be so mockable.”

The Professor fumed while Rock Bottom crossed his arms, a gesture that required a bit more maneuvering due to the presence of oversized boxing gloves.

“Besides,” Felix added, hands on his hips, “I don't even have my bag right now. It's at my place, in storage. I figured you of all people would know that.”

The Professor stamped his foot on the floor, absolutely shocked.

“The bag is in your home, Felix?” the Professor asked, wide-eyed.

“…Yeah,” Felix answered, not quite following.

“And you’re here? With all your friends?” Rock Bottom asked, pointing toward the floor, or at least trying to point before remembering he really couldn’t.

Felix scratched the back of his head, searching for the main idea behind this line of questioning. Felix was getting a little tired of answering so many questions.

“I mean,” Felix started, thinking for a moment, “Poindexter isn’t here because we don’t want too many characters in one short story, but sure. I’m here. Yeah.”

The Professor and Rock Bottom looked at each other for a moment, looked back to Felix, looked back at each other, then sprinted back through the doors they had just come through, the Professor having to hold the door open for Rock because Rock couldn’t operate the handle.

“What was that all about?” Felix asked, looking back to his friends.

“Uh, Felix?” Rosco started.

“Don’t you think they know where you live?” Sheba finished.

-

The Professor and Rock Bottom sprinted along the city streets. Well, the Professor was sprinting. Rock was panting and dragging his feet, held down by the weights on his hands. Thankfully, being so short, even sprinting did not put the Professor so far ahead of his partner in crime.

“Hey, Professor…” Rock began, barely able to finish his thought, “Maybe you could… um…”

Rock blinked, coughed, and shook his head to keep himself conscious. He quickly pushed aside the thought that he should give up smoking.

“How can one old man run so fast?” Rock asked himself.

Rock Bottom, of course, did not know that the Professor was currently being powered by pure greed as he charged forward through the throngs of citizens in his way, not once bothering to apologize for his rudeness.

“With speed, my canine companion! This is our time,” The Professor blustered, pointing toward their destination that had just come into sight: The building that contained Felix’s modest apartment.

“At this rate, Professor, your time’s gonna be a lot quicker than mine,” Rock said, panting to himself before he realized what he was doing and retracting his tongue with a blush.

-

Not far behind the evil duo raced the trio of felines. Working as a unit, Rosco carried Felix and Sheba on each of his shoulders as he ran.

“Felix, I'm getting tired,” Rosco said, he too out of breath.

This did not matter to Felix, however, who was desperately trying to spot either the Professor or Rock Bottom ahead of them, to not avail.

“Just a bit farther, Rosco,” Felix muttered, thinking of all the ways everything could go wrong at any moment if the Professor got to his Back of Tricks before he did.

All the while, Sheba was pinching her nose.

“Rosco,” Sheba started, her voice changed with her plugged-up sniffer, “You gotta get some new deodorant.”

With just a hair of remaining breath left, Rosco replied, “I don't wear deodorant, Sheba. It's a waste of money.”

Sheba shook her head.

“You know, Rosco, you're the one running, but I'm the who can’t breathe.”

-

Team 1: Old Dog

Team 2: The Nyan Clan

Hello there, folks. My name is Marv Aardvark and it looks like we’re in another exciting race. Nyan Clan is currently far behind, but they’re quickly gaining ground as Old Dog works to make up for the difference between their two team members.

Now I know what you’re thinking: Marv, where do babies come from?

And I’m here to tell you that babies do not come from anywhere. In fact, babies are not real. Do you remember being a baby? I don’t. So if you don’t even remember it, how could babies even–

Sensational! Looks like Old Dog is taking a page out of Nyan Clan’s book. The Professor is carrying Rock Bottom on his shoulders, struggling to stay upright, but still running up a storm toward Felix’s apartment.

Meanwhile, it looks like Rosco is out of gas. Felix and Sheba are, yep, it looks like they have to struggle to drag Rosco along the sidewalk. Well, Felix is dragging Rosco while Sheba desperately tries to shoo away anyone who might step on the orange cat.

What a miserable display, but somehow, they’re still gaining ground. I don’t get it either, but the distance doesn’t lie, folks. The distance doesn’t lie.

I tell you, folks, the tension here is real. Unlike babies.

Anyway, the Professor and Rock Bottom are at Felix’s apartment door. Rock has punched open the door, taking it right off its hinges and sending it to the floor. Good luck explaining that one to your landlord, Felix.

Now the Professor and Rock are digging through Felix’s closet, looking for any sign of the Bag of Tricks. It’s absolutely incredible: There are so many references to Felix’s past cartoons in that closet, but I’m not going to bother to name any of them, because I am focused purely on the action here.

Speaking of action: Nyan Clan have arrived at Felix’s apartment, a jumble of exclamation points appearing above Felix’s head as he sees what happened to his poor door.

But that doesn’t matter at all. What matters now is what we’re seeing at the finish line. Let’s get some sound over there, folks. Marv Aardvark: Out!

-

Using one the exclamation points above his head to lift up his couch, Felix pulled out from under it his now unhidden black and yellow Bag of Tricks.

As if sensing its presence, the Professor stopped digging through Felix’s closet, and with a bristle of his mustache, pointed and screamed, “The Bag of Tricks! Get it! I need it. I need the bag!!! I must have it. I–”

The bag turned into a pair of black and yellow earmuffs, which Felix promptly put over his ears to drown out the Professor’s babbling.

“I suppose some things never want to change,” Felix mumbled to himself.

-

Scholars should note that the various degrees of the Professor’s bag-related babbling are among the least understood aspects of the Felix the Cat pantheon.

You have Degree One: Casual Conversation. This can include anything from the Professor discussing how upset he is that he does not have the bag, to inventions that will help him steal the bag, to how he’ll accomplish world domination with said bag. The Professor’s characteristic mumbling and stuttering are already present at this level.

After that there’s Degree Two: Raised Stakes. The bag is in sight, but still out of reach. Speech patterns quicken, a bit of grumbling following every stutter. Wild arm movements are common, though not always present due to limited animation restrictions.

Then there’s Degree Three: Blind, Idiotic Rage.

-

“Your Bag of Tricks! It will be mine! It must be mine. Nothing could stop me now!!!” the Professor screamed, his whole body shaking, everyone in the room turning to watch the old man, everyone tilting their heads in awe of the Professor’s shameless display.

Felix even took off his earmuffs so he could fully marvel at the scene before him.

There was a small knock on the wide open doorframe of Felix’s apartment. The entire cast of characters in this production proceeded to turn around and face the source of the sound. They were met face-to-face with a balding human wearing a blue bathrobe, white tank top, red-and-white-striped boxers, and widdle white bunny swippers.

The bags under the human’s eyes were very much visible.

“Uh, hey. Sorry to interrupt… all this,” the human grumbled, “But I work the night shift and I really need to get some sleep.”

“I hear ya,” Rock Bottom said, stepping away from the Professor and between the cats to address the human.

“Just a bit of consideration, please,” the human continued, not really making eye contact with anyone, as his eyes were still half-closed.

“Of course,” Rock replied, “We’ll be a bit quieter,” the dog added as he went to gently close Felix’s apartment door, remembered what he did, and then just kinda mimed it sheepishly as the human walked away.

Rock Bottom then took a few long steps on his way back next to the Professor and the exchange continued.

“You're never getting my bag,” Felix proclaimed, holding his Bag of Tricks above his head.

“Yeah!” Rosco yelled, everyone shushing him.

“Besides,” Sheba said, “I bet you could invent anything that does what Felix’s bag does.”

The Professor put his hand to his chin, thinking over that idea for but a second before concluding, “But I must have that bag.”

Rock Bottom winced at the Professor’s words.

“Professor, this is starting to get kinda sad.”

“Pipe down, you mongrel!” the Professor spat back at Rock, “I will not be denied. I will do anything to get that bag.”

“Well, you don’t have to talk to me like that, Professor,” Rock whimpered.

Wanting to get this over with, Felix stepped forward, catching the Professor’s attention.

“Hey, you said you’ll do anything for my Bag of Tricks, right?”

“Of course, you foolish feline! I would follow you to the ends of the earth for that bag,” the Professor announced, standing proud.

Felix smirked, “Wanna bet for it?”

The Professor sputtered.

“A bet? For your Bag of Tricks? Would you really leave something so valuable up to chance?”

Felix put his bag on the floor and clapped his paws together.

“I have before. In fact, I bet I could beat Rock Bottom in a boxing match,” Felix said as his bag turned into a pair of black and yellow boxing gloves, which Felix promptly put on his hands. As Felix sat down on a nearby stool, Rosco quickly appeared to wipe down Felix’s head with a towel while Sheba handed Felix a bottle of water, which Felix drank from with gusto.

The Professor let out an uproarious laugh, wasting no time to push Rock Bottom toward the black and white cat, the Professor giving Rock a hearty slap on the bag as he kept on laughing.

“Of course, Felix. That sounds very fair,” the Professor chortled.

“And what’s more,” Felix added, “We’ll fight with our eyes closed.”

Bringing his hands to his stomach, the Professor laughed so hard, he fell down on his back, all while Rock stood there sweating, staring down at the surprisingly confident cats before him.

“Professor…” Rock tried to say.

“Oh, be quiet, you putrid pooch,” the Professor said as he brushed aside Rock’s comment.

Standing up, the Professor looked Felix square in the eyes.

“I accept your bet, and I accept it in full confidence of your inevitable demise. In fact, just to be in the spirit of things, I will keep my eyes closed during your fight as well, as I know your bag will soon be mine,” the Professor said the last part in a deep, menacing tone that was quite unnatural for him.

Standing up from his stool, Felix stared up at the dog that was more than twice his height, and closed his eyes.

Doing the same, Rock turned to face where he thought the Professor was.

“Professor, I really don’t wanna hurt him,” Rock wavered.

The Professor guffawed, his eyes closed as well.

“Nonsense!” the Professor decreed, “Face your target, Rock. Think of how much he annoys you. Think of how sick he makes you feel day in and day out. Think about what you could accomplish if you no longer had to deal with him. Think about what you could do if he was gone.”

Rock readied his punch.

“Now hit him!”

Felix opened his eyes just in time to watch Rock Bottom punch the Professor right square in the face.

Eyes wide and way too nervous to say a another word, Rock lifted up and carried the unconscious Professor out of Felix’s apartment, scurrying out the doorway and down the hallway.

Standing behind Felix, Sheba and Rosco both breathed a sigh of relief.

“How did you know that was gonna happen?” Sheba asked.

Felix shrugged.

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did you do it?!” Rosco spat out.

“Because,” Felix said, “I’d do anything for my bag.”

With that, the boxing gloves on Felix’s hands turned back into his Bag of Tricks. With a wiggle, a small package with a shiny, black and yellow bow popped out from inside the bag.

Felix pulled at the bow.

“What is it, Felix?” Rosco asked, dumbfounded.

Tossing aside the bow, Felix opened the plain white box underneath to reveal…

“Nothing?” Felix asked with a tilt of his head.

Sheba laughed.

“Your bag’s got a sense of humor, F-Man,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

“How’s that?” Felix grumbled.

“Don’t you remember what I said?” Sheba started, “It’s not about what you get out of life. It’s where you go and what you learn from it.”

“Maybe,” Felix considered, “Or maybe my bag has been in storage for so long, it needs a tune up.”

Sheba sighed, while Rosco walked over to the empty doorframe, picking the discarded door up off the floor.

“Think we should try to fix this?” Rosco asked the other cats.

At these words, a series of necessary tools popped out from the Bag of Tricks, each of them black and yellow in color.

“Alright!” Sheba exclaimed, the tired human from earlier shushing her from across the hall.

“Thanks, bag. You’re the best.” Felix cooed, petting the bag at its handle, the bag nuzzling into Felix’s hand.

-

“You’re the worst!” the Professor yelled at Rock Bottom.

Now back at the lab, the Professor had a steak bigger than his whole head pressed against his black eye.

“I just did what felt right, Professor,” Rock Bottom said with a shrug, having much difficulty picking up the sandwich he made because of his gloves. How he even managed to make the sandwich in the first place, I can’t tell you.

“No matter,” the Professor grumbled “I am already formulating a plan for next time…”

Uncertain of such a concept, Rock put his gloves close to his chest, close to his heart.

“Can I keep my boxing gloves?”

“No!” the Professor yelled, Rock frowning, his eyes watering.

“Because…” the Professor continued, “I’ll be making you… bigger ones.”


End file.
